


Feedback

by StygianSea



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StygianSea/pseuds/StygianSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But he still wants to know; what it’s like, in the absence of body scanners and metrics and subroutine analyses. How the humans do it, when they do each other.</p>
<p>So when he swipes his tongue along the base of John’s neck, and feels a shudder coarse through the skin where he’s gripping John’s waist, he thinks he might like to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feedback

There are no blue lights flashing this time; just him and John, moving together in the not-quite-silence, bodies alight in the dark. ~~~~

_How do you do it, John?_ he asks him. When you’re trying to make someone feel good, how can you tell? What’s working and what’s not? Perhaps, being in the middle of such an act itself, it isn’t the best time to entertain such questions… But Dorian is always curious, always wanting to know just that much more about what it means to be human, even while he’s busy grinding his hips into someone else’s.

Perhaps it isn’t been the best time to entertain such questions, if John’s incoherent response is anything to go by. “What? Shit, Dorian I don’t—I don’t kn—” He tries, the words spilling breathlessly past parted lips. “You just… you just… p-pay attention? You li—liste—oh, _fuck_ —”

John’s sentence is cut short by a moan that arches his body and pushes his hips up off the mattress. Dorian – who had been listening quite attentively – had also just rocked his hips in that particular way he knew made John fall apart. He has to remind himself that humans were quite dreadful multitaskers, least of all at trying to stay coherent while in the midst of the throes of passion. So when the rest of John’s response never comes, Dorian doesn’t question him further, and begins pressing kisses down his jawline.

But he still wants to know; what it’s like, in the absence of body scanners and metrics and subroutine analyses. How the humans do it, when they do each other.

So when he swipes his tongue along the base of John’s neck, and feels a shudder coarse through the skin where he’s gripping John’s waist, he thinks he might like to find out.

_Pay attention_ , John had said.

And so he does.

Dorian shut off his bioscanners, the blue lights fading away into the darkness, and touches his lips to John’s skin. It’s strange at first, feeling the warmth emanating from John’s body, without being told his exact temperature, or just how fast the blood is rushing under his skin. But Dorian can feel it. He can feel the soft staccato of John’s pulse, the raised skin of the scar near his left shoulder as it passes under his tongue, the hardening of flesh as he takes one taut nipple into his mouth, and then the other.

Dorian places kisses over John’s chest, listening to, and feeling his breath, mimicked in a rapid rise and fall that pushes Dorian away and pulls him back just as desperately as he tries to keep his lips in contact with John’s skin. He digs his fingers into John’s waist, no sensors telling him how much force he’s applying or the extent to which bruises might adorn John’s skin, or for how long; all Dorian cares about is the heat against his lips, the body under his hands, and the actions he needs to take to get John to make that noise again.

He moves his mouth slowly down John’s body, dropping kisses in the wake of hands that slide down until they come to rest on both of John’s thighs, and it’s here that Dorian feels something that gave him pause. The warmth of John’s flesh, the heat rising from his skin, is there, present, under the fingers of his right hand; but under his left he feels a different coursing, another kind of energy pulsing under his fingertips: electric, alive.

He tightens his grip around the prosthetic limb, feeling soft sparks shoot up his arm as his own body interacts with it. There’s a synthesis in this moment that he had barely registered before; in the absence of diagnostics, of calibration alerts, of the perpetual reminder of John’s stubborn resistance to the thing, Dorian can feel its energy, like lightning under his hand.

He thinks he might like to stay there for a while, feeling the electricity hum under his still fingers, but he hears John’s voice, soft and wanting, calling out to him.

“Dorian, please…”

He looks up, and although the world is tinted a soft greenish-blue he can still see the flush spread out across John’s skin; can see John’s pupils, darkened with lust, peeking out from beneath half-lidded eyes; he can see parted lips and hear the shallow breaths flowing past, his face the picture of need for release.

Dorian moves and takes John into his mouth, feels the head of John’s swollen cock slide past his lips and over his tongue, until his face is buried in a tuft of surprisingly soft hairs and a scent that intrigues him when he can’t break it down, with nothing to tell him what it’s made of, so he decides to label it _John_.

And it grows stronger the longer he sucks, the faster John thrusts to meet his pace. Dorian doesn’t know how close John is, doesn’t have his sensors to tell him (though the way John is keening and cursing and thrashing about, Dorian would guess he’s pretty close), but that’s okay, because there are things he _can_ sense, things like John’s hands tangled in his hair, or John’s cock teasing the back of his throat, and John’s muscles clenching under his fingers, John’s breath as it hitches, John’s cock as it twitches against his lips and his tongue and John’s cum as it spills into his mouth, hot and wet and endless.

Then John becomes too sensitive to touch, and Dorian pulls his mouth away gently and sits up, watching as the flush fades from his skin. Once his breath has evened out, Dorian moves to lie beside him, gathering a spent John in his arms and pulling him close. He’s expecting a protest, but even without his bioscanners on Dorian can tell that John is already fast on his way to sleep.

Lying in the silence, he listens to the haptic feedback of John’s body: the steady drum of a heart against his chest, the soft exhalations ghosting over his skin. John moves, his leg brushing against Dorian’s own, a hum of energy crossing their bodies. Normally, Dorian would have removed it for him; but as he reaches down to place his hand on the cool skin, feeling the electricity thrumming beneath his fingertips, he thinks that maybe he’ll leave it for a while longer.

He thinks, perhaps, that this time John won't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> ACK. It took me a week to write this DX surprisingly, this is my first slash story that actually has sex in it D: I know... I'm surprised too. How many years has it been? I feel ashamed T_T
> 
> Perhaps that's why it took so long! ^o^;> haha I felt so out of my element... but it's done! And it's up and finished and now I can finish writing my final exam paper oh lord T_T


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